A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  “There.” She shifted the child toward him. One of his hands grazed hers. The other slid over her back, almost like a caress.

  The baby stirred and gave a soft belch. Then suddenly she was in Jack’s arms. Her tiny head nestled against the hollow of his shoulder. Though he still feared he might drop her or hold her too tightly, the soft rhythm of the child’s breathing and the warm weight of her calmed him somehow.

  “Very good.” Annabelle gave a rustling chuckle that caressed his ears like velvet. “Now try to relax and not hold yourself quite so stiff.”

  Did her voice linger on that last word? Fierce fire flared in Jack’s face. Was he blushing? He hadn’t done that since he was a spotty, gangly adolescent. He did not care to repeat the experience now! Perhaps bringing Annabelle to his house was not such a good idea after all. He must make every effort to locate the child’s mother quickly, so Frederick’s widow would not have to remain under his roof for more than a single night.

  The baby made a soft cooing sound and wriggled closer to Jack. It kindled strange protective, possessive feelings in his heart.

  Once he found the child’s mother, what would he do then? Place her back in the care of a woman who’d abandoned her once already?

  “I wonder where Gabriel and Rory have gone.” Jack mused as he ushered Annabelle into his drawing room. He glanced at the peacefully sleeping baby cradled in her arms. “I cannot believe this little one slept all the way back here in the carriage.”

  “She tired herself out crying earlier.” Annabelle strove to concentrate on the baby so she would not dwell on the disturbing sensations that had bedeviled her earlier when she’d brushed against Jack.

  It was the first time they’d done more than exchange a casual handshake or he had offered her his arm while walking. The subtle friction of her back sliding against his chest and her bottom grazing his leg had sent sparks of unbidden desire tingling through her body. They had made her heart race and her knees grow weak. What manner of wicked harlot was she to lust after another man when her heroic husband was barely a year in his grave? If the baby had not needed her care, she would have fled Jack’s house and never let him come within six feet of her again!

  “We cannot count on her to stay quiet.” Annabelle sank onto the nearest armchair. “She must be hungry after all this time. We will need to have something ready to feed her when she wakes or she will start crying again, worse than before.”

  “Worse? That will not do. Nobody under this roof would get a wink of sleep.” Jack blanched and eyed a nearby decanter of spirits as if tempted to soothe his nerves with a drink. “What can we feed her? I thought you said she needs mother’s milk.”

  It was clear to Annabelle how much this whole situation rattled him. Yet he’d refused to consider handing the baby off to the Foundling Hospital. It seemed Jack Warwick still had a weakness for waifs and strays. No doubt that was all she had ever been to him.

  “She does. But since that is not available at present we can try feeding her pap so she will have something on her stomach.” Annabelle’s arms were growing tired, but she did not dare risk giving the baby to Jack again and the contact that might entail.

  In response to his puzzled look, she explained, “Take good white bread, break it into pieces then boil it in fresh cow’s milk until it makes a mush. Once it has cooled, dribble it into her mouth from a small gravy boat or a teapot.”

  “I shall instruct my cook to prepare it at once.” Jack appeared grateful for any excuse to flee the room.

  “He might have rung for a servant,” Annabelle whispered to the sleeping baby. “I thought nothing could frighten brave Jack Warwick, but you seem to scare him witless.”

  The baby stirred in her sleep, giving a faint snuffle that sounded derisive. Annabelle smiled in spite of herself.

  While she waited for Jack to return, she glanced around the drawing room. It was tidier than she’d expected to find an establishment shared by three bachelors. The furniture and pictures appeared to be of good quality. But somehow it looked less like a home than a well-appointed hotel. Annabelle was not surprised to find Lord Gabriel and Mr. Fitzwalter absent this evening. She doubted Jack and his friends were accustomed to spending much time here.

  Her gaze fell on the only item that seemed out of place, a much-creased sheet of paper that lay on the floor beneath a side table. Could it be the note Jack had mentioned earlier—the one that had accompanied the baby? Annabelle tried to ignore it, but curiosity gnawed at her.

  The note should not lie there on the floor where it might get thrown out, or worse read, by one of Jack’s servants. What if it contained some clue to the identity of the baby’s mother that Jack and his friends had missed in their initial surprise? A woman might be better able to glean more information from it.

  Though her conscience recognized those as mere excuses to indulge her curiosity, they were sufficient for Annabelle. She rose carefully, so as not to wake the baby then edged over to the table. She nudged the paper out from beneath it with her foot. Then with skill borne from years serving as a glorified nursery maid to her young cousins, she knelt and retrieved the note while maintaining her hold on the sleeping infant.

  Returning to her chair, she scanned the brief message, keeping an anxious ear alert for any sound of Jack’s return.

  “This is your daughter,” it read. “Her name is Sarah. I cannot take proper care of her any longer, so you must.”

  It was evident the handwriting belonged to a woman, though not necessarily a lady. No doubt Jack Warwick knew any number of those. Otherwise, the note revealed nothing particular about who its writer might be.

  “It is a pity you are too young to speak,” Annabelle murmured to the baby. “Then perhaps you could tell us who left you on the doorstep. It is not very agreeable to be unwanted, is it? At least my parents wanted me... while they lived.”

  The sound of approaching footsteps made her start. That abrupt movement woke the baby who began to fuss.

  “Hush little one.” Annabelle flung the note back on the floor and concentrated on trying to soothe the child. “You will soon have something to eat.”

  Jack strode in, bearing a small teapot. “I must thank you again for coming to my rescue, Annabelle. It seems that Rory and Gabriel have deserted me, damn their ungrateful hides.”

  Before she could reply, he lifted the top from the pot. “I fear this may not be cool enough yet. What do you think?”

  Annabelle dipped a finger into the liquid then shook her head. “Still a little too hot. We do not want to burn her mouth.”

  “No indeed.” Jack’s rugged features took on anxious cast. “The last thing she needs is another reason to howl.”

  Annabelle rose from her chair and began to walk around the room, rubbing the baby’s back. Little Sarah’s fussing eased, but did not cease altogether.

  “Shall I show you to the guest room?” Jack picked up a candle from the mantel. “You can feed and tend her there.”

  Did the man not have any servants? Or was he trying to hide her from them?

  “Very well,” Annabelle agreed warily, “But I will need more than food to tend her properly through the night.”

  She followed him out of the drawing room and up the stairs, making a determined effort to ignore the way his buff-colored breeches clung to his lean-muscled legs. She had always been far too aware of Jack’s masculine attractions, but tonight it was worse than ever. Why?

  “What else do you need?” he asked. “I will fetch it for you.”

  “I told you already,” Annabelle snapped. Her unwelcome yearning for him made her testy. “She will need at least two changes of linen, though I doubt you will be able to purchase proper diapering cloth at this hour. We shall have to make do with whatever you can find.”

  “I expect I can improvise something.” Jack’s reply sounded rather sharp as well. What did he have to be vexed about, apart from being made to take responsibility for his actions?

  “She will need
some sort of cradle to sleep in,” Annabelle added as Jack juggled the items in his hands to open the guestroom door.

  “I will see what I can find.” He ushered her into the room then set the teapot on the night table and the candle on the mantel.

  As she entered, Annabelle quickly glanced around her. This was a far cry from the lodgings she had left. A low fire burned on the hearth, warming the damp chill of late February. The chamber was tastefully furnished with an upholstered armchair, a night table and a wardrobe. But it was the large canopied bed of which Annabelle found herself vexingly aware. Had Jack ever brought other women here for less respectable purposes?

  “Ring if you need anything in the meantime.” He headed for the door. “Though, I must warn you, the servants may not answer. They do not know what to make of a baby in the house any more than I do.”

  “Don’t you dare set foot outside this room!” Annabelle called after him. “I came here to help you look after the child tonight, not to do everything myself.”

  Jack stopped abruptly and turned back toward her. “What do you expect me to do?”

  He looked mystified, yet rather ashamed as well. Clearly he knew what he was doing wrong but had hoped to get away with it.

  Annabelle had no intention of letting him. “You can hold the baby while I feed her or you can feed her while I hold her.”

  “What about the linen and the cradle you asked for?”

  “Get your servants to fetch them or wait until the baby is fed.” Annabelle knew she must sound unfeeling, but she did not care. Being alone in a bedroom with Jack agitated her.

  Then why did she not let him go away on his errands while she fed the child on her own? her conscience demanded.

  Because she was tired of watching him shrug off his responsibilities, she insisted to herself. Much as she deplored little Sarah’s mother abandoning her child, Annabelle was not altogether sorry to see some of Jack’s chickens come home to roost.

  She expected him to make more excuses but for once he surprised her. “You’re right, Annabelle. You have been kinder than I deserve. I do not mean to impose upon you more than I have already. Only I cannot remember the last time I was called to tackle a task for which I am so ill-prepared. Or one on which so much depends.”

  It was a great deal easier to resist Jack’s dangerous charm when he was trying to evade his responsibilities. When he frankly accepted them and admitted his fears, Annabelle found herself drawn to him in a way that had nothing to do with his chiseled features or his broad shoulders.

  “You might as well keep hold of her,” he continued, “since it is such a... laborious process to pass her from one person to another.”

  Laborious was not the word Annabelle would have chosen. Clearly their earlier contact had not stimulated him as it had her.

  “Quite right.” She marched over to the armchair and was about to take a seat when she realized she was still dressed for outdoors. “But first, can you help me take off my pelisse and bonnet? Unless you would rather hold the baby while I do it?”

  “No! I mean... yes, of course.” Gingerly, Jack tugged loose the strings of her bonnet and removed it from her head.

  After placing it on top of the wardrobe, he started on the buttons of her pelisse while Annabelle tried to hold the baby out of the way. The child fussed and squirmed—clearly hungry. When Jack’s fingers fumbled with the buttons over her bosom, Annabelle struggled to keep from squirming with a different kind of hunger. By the time he eased her arms out of the sleeves, she was acutely conscious of her nipples straining against her shift, their outline visible through the bodice of her dress. She shifted the baby in her arms to conceal her wicked state of arousal.

  Fortunately the chair was right behind her, for her knees grew weak again. She sank onto it more forcefully than she intended. The sudden drop startled the baby, who gave a little gasp then began to cry in earnest.

  Thank Heaven this unsettling arrangement was only for one night! Already Annabelle could hardly wait to make her escape from Bruton Street.

  Chapter Three

  HOW MANY WOMEN had he undressed over the years?

  Faced with the possible result of one such seduction, Jack found it difficult to take pride in the number of his conquests. Never before had he found himself as self-conscious about it as he did now with Annabelle. Their contact was all perfectly chaste—only removing her bonnet and pelisse. Yet it affected him every bit as much as if he’d helped her out of her shift and stockings.

  His palms were damp, while his loins felt quite on fire. For tuppence, he would have bolted from the room until he mastered his body’s carnal response. But the baby was crying harder. When had she last been fed?

  “Tell me what to do,” he implored as he hung up Annabelle’s pelisse.

  “Fetch the pap.” She nodded toward the teapot on the night table.

  The baby’s cries must bother her more than she cared to admit. Her face had grown flushed and her voice sounded breathless.

  Jack was only too relieved to put some distance between them. “Do you think it will be cool enough yet?”

  He was content to wait awhile before he had to approach her again. But the baby’s hungry howls smote his conscience.

  “There is one way to find out,” Annabelle replied as she rubbed the child’s back. “Dribble a bit onto your finger and see what you think.”

  Jack did as she suggested. “I cannot tell. It didn’t burn my hand, but will it be too hot for her mouth?”

  “Bring it here,” said Annabelle. “Let me try.”

  She parted her lips.

  Against his better judgment, Jack poured a few drops of thick, white liquid onto his forefinger then popped it into Annabelle’s mouth. The moist warmth, as her lips closed over his finger and the slick caress of her tongue sent a powerful jolt of lust surging through him, of which he was heartily ashamed.

  He wrenched his finger back as if he feared she might bite it off.

  “I meant from the pot,” she chided him in a high-pitched voice, quite different from its usual mellow rustle. “But no matter. The pap is not too hot.”

  Jack wished he could say the same about himself.

  “Hush now, little one.” Annabelle lowered the baby from her shoulder to nestle in her arms. “We have something to feed you. It won’t be what you are used to but I hope it will hold you for the night until your mama can be found.”

  Surely little Sarah was too young to understand. But something in Annabelle’s deft, gentle movements seemed to soothe her. When she wasn’t red-faced and howling, she was a pretty little creature.

  Annabelle glanced up at Jack. “Unless you want to strain your back, I suggest you kneel down to feed her. Put the spout to her mouth, but do not try to force it in.”

  Jack had no difficulty dropping to his knees. He hadn’t trusted them to bear his weight much longer. Gingerly, he raised the spout of the teapot to the baby’s tiny mouth.

  “Very good,” Annabelle murmured. “Now press the tip very lightly against her lower lip and let a drop of the pap trickle out.”

  He was not accustomed to making such restrained, deliberate movements, especially with a desirable woman so near. Jack mustered every ounce of self-control to follow Annabelle’s instructions.

  In response to the gentle pressure against her lip, the baby’s mouth opened and a bit of the thick liquid dribbled in. The taste of it clearly made her eager for more. Her lips opened and closed around the spout in a sucking movement. Jack tipped the pot to give her more of what she wanted.

  The next thing he knew, she began to sputter and cough.

  Alarmed, he pulled the pot away and braced for a sharp rebuke from Annabelle.

  Instead, she lifted the baby to her shoulder and patted her back, crooning, “Don’t fret. I know you’re hungry but you mustn’t try to drink so fast.”

  She offered Jack an encouraging smile, which he sorely needed at the moment.

  “I was afraid I’d choked her.�
�� He lowered the teapot with a trembling hand.

  “It was not your fault.” Once little Sarah had stopped coughing, Annabelle shifted her back into position for feeding. “I may have had her lying back too far. I have plenty of experience with babies who have been weaned, but not with any who are still suckling. We will soon get the knack of it, no doubt.”

  She expected him to try again? “But what if she chokes this time too?”

  Annabelle looked amused by his concern. “Then I will pat her back until she coughs it up. Go on now, before her food gets cold.”

  The next try went better. Little Sarah swallowed quite a bit of the mixture before she started coughing again.

  “Very good!” Annabelle smiled at Jack in a way she had not done for some years. “You see, it is not such an ordeal after all.”

  Her reassurance eased his misgivings and buoyed his confidence.

  They continued in that manner until the baby no longer seemed so eager to drink.

  “That should hold her for a while—hopefully until you can find her mother or hire a wet nurse.” Annabelle wiped the child’s mouth then addressed her. “Are you happier, now that you have a dry bottom and a full belly?”

  The baby broke into a wide, radiant grin—one that Jack discovered to be quite contagious. Little Sarah’s bright gaze strayed toward him and she gave a gleeful chuckle.

  Annabelle shook her head in pretended exasperation. “Yet another lady has fallen under the spell of the irresistible Mr. Warwick.”

  “Nonsense,” he muttered. “I expect she would approve of anyone who gave her food when she was so hungry.”

  The baby seemed to find his speech comical for she laughed at that as well. Her enormous blue eyes sparkled.

  “She is a rather appealing little creature when she is not screaming at the top of her lungs.” Jack could not resist the urge to run his finger over her plump, velvety cheek.

  When he reached toward her, the baby seized his finger with her tiny, perfect hands.